


I'm nothing without you.

by Candlecanes



Category: Stephen King mimic
Genre: I'm Bad At Tagging, My Own Universe, Other, Sad, Short Story, This is me trying to write in Stephen kings style, We have similar writing style so, Whoops I'm projecting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-15 15:46:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11234148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Candlecanes/pseuds/Candlecanes
Summary: The door handle jiggled itself open to reveal a very familiar face. A man, with blond scuff, tall and broad with a flopped over haircut that is just a tad darker than his scuff. Glasses as well, wireframes. He's wearing a plain grey shirt and a pair of cargo shorts. I noticed that men only really have two options when it comes to wearing shorts either basketball shorts or cargo shorts. He smiles his slightly crooked smile.“Yes?”“Uh. Could you stop pacing, it's getting rather annoying-” I was cut off by being dragged into a tight yet short and sweet hug. A hug by anyone taller than you is always the best. The hug was short lived and then my face was greeted with a slam of a door and a short answer of, “I'll make sure I'm not creating a draft.” I stood there for a moment, not really in a full process if what just happened.I couldn't sleep that night.





	I'm nothing without you.

Whiskey faded eyes and a slight twist of the smile, tall and broad. Everything, the flicker of a light, a simple guitar melody, a complex shade of green, a cartoon, anything will bring up reminders of what we once had, even if it was just a friendship that lasted less than six months. You could drink all of my thoughts because I couldn't stand to think of them any longer, leaving them to resign in my brain, to wander until I couldn't stand it any more. I had become so used to seeing, talking, interacting with them. It was like becoming used to a certain drink and changing it slightly and now it just leaves a sick taste in my mouth.

It's like losing a soulmate that wasn’t even yours. Well, I'm sick of losing soulmates. Time wears thin with flaws resting on your sleeves while mine are buried deep beneath the ground, never to meet anything else but the deep cold ground. You tried your best to dig them out but never could manage more than you could carry. Thinking about it, metaphors won't change how I feel, just describing how I think I feel without action.

I took a sip of my now cold coffee that was setting on the table in the small coffee shop that I had stopped in, I come here every once and awhile. I look over my left shoulder to see a group of teens, looking overly satisfied with something they had just done, whatever that is it seems less significant than anything else. I look to my right, out the window to meet storm clouds, if I were younger or less sad about living I would probably trying to make out an animal or anything out of the clouds but I wasn't. What was the point? There were small raindrops dripping on the giant glass windows next to me. I must have been staring because a short, pale man with his hair slicked back and dark circles from restless nights had given me a obvious forced smile. He slightly waved looking very uncomfortable, I gave a quick smile back and a quick wave because it's not like I'll ever see him again so what impact am I going to leave?

Just a small unimportant, uneffective, insignificant memory that he will probably forget in less than a day. Is that the memory that I left them? No, I knew them longer. But in the long run, longer will seem shorter and shorter and shorter until I'm just a hazy blur of a memory waiting to be forgotten. Am I just a dot in their whole memory? Yet quickly my thoughts were cut off by a short rumble of thunder, I should get heading home I think. Standing up, I grabbed my cold coffee, dumping it in the trash on the way out. As I was walking down the busy streets filled to the brim with people that I have never met and or will never meet, I felt a slight pitter patter of rain, resting in an uneven pattern that I have become accustomed to. It's been raining a lot. Hell, the sky seems sad too.

By the time I made it home I was feeling worn out from nothing but a little social interaction. I suppose that's the effect of not seeing, talking or leaving my house for over two weeks. It works out when you are your own boss. The rain was dying down with clouds passing into the nearby city, which is over an hour away. Yet the noises didn't stop, maybe that's because a new neighbor was moving into the apartment above me. At this moment I seem to oddly miss the old man that lived above me and his weird obsession with polka and jazz music. Now the silence was filled with rumbles of moving boxes and loud feet moving or pacing really. I guess the nicest thing to in this situation is to meet the neighbor but right now I need to recharge like a dying phone.

When I'm worn out and tired I feel like I could write a whole essay on how nothing really feels real yet I sadly know it is. Getting into bed and staring at the ceiling that is covered in those glow in the dark stars, they are super glued to ceiling because my bedroom used to belong to a seven year old before I moved in and I don't have the heart to rip the off. They're actually kind of comforting. 

The pacing continued.

This needed to stop, I didn't care about making first impressions anymore. Even though a first impression could leave me at a standstill with this unknown neighbor. I couldn't seem to concentrate or even think of anything I could say to them besides that if they don't stop making noise I'm going to make a noise complaint to the building. Apparently, my feet were tied to my brain on this one, who cares about my bubbling anxiety that is set to a small simmer in my stomach. Clearly I don't.

I walked up the stairs as quickly as my thoughts came. The next thing I knew I heard a knocking noise on C3, the apartment above mine. I was the one knocking. I heard a grunt of 'Hold on, be right there.’ Now my anxiety was in full kick and all the thoughts running through my brain were 'that was the dumbest thing I've ever done.’ and 'I should have just make a noise complaint to the building’ and other such things. The door handle jiggled itself open to reveal a very familiar face. A man, with blond scuff, tall and broad with a flopped over haircut that is just a tad darker than his scuff. Glasses as well, wireframes. He's wearing a plain grey shirt and a pair of cargo shorts. I noticed that men only really have two options when it comes to wearing shorts either basketball shorts or cargo shorts. He smiles his slightly crooked smile.

“Yes?”

“Uh. Could you stop pacing, it's getting rather annoying-” I was cut off by being dragged into a tight yet short and sweet hug. A hug by anyone taller than you is always the best. The hug was short lived and then my face was greeted with a slam of a door and a short answer of, “I'll make sure I'm not creating a draft.” I stood there for a moment, not really in a full process if what just happened. 

I couldn't sleep that night.

The next morning wasn't all to better. I left my apartment to go get my mail and I suppose I wasn't the only one. I was greeted with a small glare, a thing we always did. I did it back, he raised his brows and I did the same. Then his smile went as quickly as it came, and I guess so did mine. I can't really tell if it's a pit in my stomach or my stomach being filled with happiness but either way I'm happy. I guess. I haven't really felt happiness in so long that I'm not really sure if this is it or not. 

Lets just say that it didn’t last very long. Sad days would still come and go like the rain lately. It rained a lot, even if the local weather man said that it would be partly cloudy with a high of 74 degrees and a low of 61. It still rained. All I really wanted was sunshine but ever since I had gotten him back in my life it seems i can only get one thing that I want at a time. Even if I can’t really talk to him, I still get to, well. Smile. Something I can’t really remember doing this past year or so. I mean, I could easily talk to him if I really wanted, I do want it’s just. I can’t. I should probably see Jason. He’s my therapist. I haven’t seen him in a while, which is probably why I’m having so much anxiety.

 

“So..they live in the apartment above you?” I nod. Jason’s office, or talking room as he calls it sometimes, always has the smell of a doctor's office or dentist office which I guess is the only normal thing about him. I stare at my hands as he talks. I move my fingers while watching the bones in my hands, watching the bones make an outline in my skin and the harder I move my fingers the whiter my skin becomes. “Why don’t you just talk to them?” Ah, the question I have been waiting for, and I still don’t have an answer for it.

“I just..I. I can’t.”He nods making a mental note, he does this a lot. He doesn’t write down anything when I’m here but he types it down once I leave.

“Do you know why?” Questions, questions, questions. That’s all shrinks do. I can call them shrinks even though when I first went to therapy I thought it was an offensive term. The more people I see the more I feel like I can call them shrinks. I shrug. “Don’t shrug at me.” I crack a smile. Jason has been my favorite therapist because he’s like talking to a friend, even if he’s more on the expensive side. 

“Well, I mean. We used to be close but..” I trail off and he finished my sentence for me, like he always does when I trail off on my words 

“You fear you won’t be as close as you once were? Or you think you didn’t leave a lasting impression to actually have him care about you?”

“Stop reading my mind.” We both laugh lightly. I was still staring at my hand, like it was intoxicating and he must have noticed me staring and not trying to fill the quiet.

“What are you thinking?” That’s his filler question, if there is a small pause he will ask that question. I hum a response, basically my way of saying ‘What?’ and I shook my head as if to say nothing.

“Oh nothing, just. Ah nevermind.” He gave me a face but not just any face he gave me the face. The face he gives when you cut yourself off and say ‘nevermind’ or let a thought go. “Just, that.” I finish my thought, I mean, I’m just pleased to get off the topic of him, “Hands are...weird. I mean, sometimes you look at them and see the bones moving, for some people it’s gross or disgusting but it’s strangely calming for me. It’s like. I know I’m working, even if my brain isn’t working properly, at least my hands are.” He raised an eyebrow at me, so I know that what I just said is going to be written down. Great.

“Okay, back to the problem at hand.” He did a pun, I gave a face. “Sorry.” He said through laughter, “You need to talk to him you know. I know you say you can’t but you can. I used to be the same way you know.” Jason is in his mid 30s and is married, his hair he says is still as full has it was when he was in high school. He has thick black hair that comes to a widowspeak with a grey hair or two snuck in at the roots, he has a eight year old son. “When I meet Alex I was the same way, I didn’t want to talk. I just wanted to be around them.” I coughed to cut him off.

“But I don’t want to marry him!” I said and closed my eyes, shouting. “My life isn’t a Disney love story if you couldn’t tell. Even if I did want to, it’s like I’m going to. I haven’t had a REAL conversation with him in months!” I paused to take a breath. I noticed that I was shouting and felt my whole body tense and then untense. “It’s just.” I was at a whisper now. “What if he doesn’t remember me, Jason? Because. We haven’t, I haven’t. It’s just. I missed him and now I have him back and what if he doesn’t want me back in his life?” My voice was going a bit louder. “I’m clingy and I know I am, what if he hated me the whole time and wanted me gone and now I’m back and I shouldn’t be, Jason. Do you have meds for that?” He closed his eyes and sighed, he opened his eyes and took a short glance at the clock. 

“I know that you know that you don’t mean that. Even if you did, we both know there isn’t. Talking won’t be the end of the world, will it?” I shook my head no. He gave me a face. Again. I know this is going to be written down, Jason has the memory of a wise old man from the 1800’s and he doesn’t forget a soul and he never has and never will. The appointment only lasts an hour or so.

I walk down the main street, right out of the building I was just in. There are so many people just walking, some on the phone or texting others chatting with a person standing next to them; Here I am. Walking beside my thoughts who apparently want me dead. I don’t blame them either

**Author's Note:**

> I might add onto this. Not sure.


End file.
